Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily. "Oh, is that the trouble? You think I might be embellishing with lies simply to impress you, as if what I did at the crime scene were not enough? Well, how about this conclusion: you lied to me just a moment ago. You have no intentions of going home to see your family tonight, or tomorrow night, regardless of what help I've given you on this case. You should, in fact go ahead and remove that ring from your finger, your marriage is irreparably broken."
Greg's mouth opened. "And how the hell would you know anything about that." Was this man a stalker?"It's obvious," said Sherlock, gesturing around. "Your daughters' pictures are all over your desk, but the only picture you have of your wife is on the credenza behind you. And it is a group picture with your daughters in it. Your clothes - that shirt is what passes as fashionable among those of the lower middle class. It cost about double what a very similar, non-designer shirt would have cost, whilst not being appreciably more durable or
( ... )
The door opened. An impressively well dressed man stepped in. Greg was momentarily stunned. Though his appearance wasn't beyond an ordinary handsomeness, he had an almost devastating charisma radiating off of him. Everything about him, from the expression to the way he walked suggested that he not only belonged in the room, but that Greg should stand and snap to attention
( ... )
He shook his head and almost sat down when he realized that Mycroft wasn't leaving. Doing a doubletake he straightened up again and stared. "Is there some other matter I can help you with?"
"I very much appreciate you letting my brother off the hook like that." The ingratiating tone seemed lap at him, like a wave.
"It was minor," replied Greg. "… Is there more?" Mycroft had seated himself where Sherlock had been a moment before.
"I would like to show my appreciation." Mycroft's eyes seemed to bore into his. For a second Greg felt like he was being reeled in, like a fish. Those eyes seemed hypnotic, suggesting that whatever Mycroft said should be believed, agreed with. Greg got the oddest feeling that he should walk around his desk and go to the man right now.
What the hell?He shook his head, breaking eye contact. "There really is no need of that," he took refuge in looking around his desk for something to occupy him with, finding the current murder file he flipped it open and made a pretense at reading the evidence
( ... )
Chapter 2e/?velvet_maceOctober 10 2010, 17:36:58 UTC
"He turned me down, Sherlock!" Mycroft crossed the floor of the reception room and sat down with a humph in Sherlock's favorite spot. "He turned me down - and I know that he was feeling as much need for me as I for him. I felt the connection. What on Earth did you say to him to prejudice him against me? What did you do?"
"I never even mentioned you," said Sherlock.
"You made a bond with him - you pursued him. It has to be some sort of confusion. Are you taking him as your mate after our discussion?" Rage began to boil.
"Me?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Never. I don't want a mate, Mycroft. You are more than welcome to him. I fancy he turned you down because you are a megalomaniacal man who simply assumes that everyone will do his bidding. Not all heterosexual men are eager to meet you in the closet for a walk on the wild side
( ... )
"You know," said Mummy, as she bent to prune a rose, "Your sire was a late bloomer as well. He didn't meet me until he was much your age." She snipped off the thorns and handed it to him. "For the dear young thing you left in the car," she mentioned
( ... )
The next day was a paperwork day. No new cases, time to dot Is and cross Ts, talk to prosecutors, and what not. He almost kept to his official hours, walking home in the dark to give his legs a stretch and save money. The flat looked exactly the same as he left it that morning
( ... )
He hadn't forgotten Mycroft Holmes - how could he? Even if the man hadn't made a pass at him, he'd still have been memorable. The handsomeness, the charisma, the way Greg had felt helplessly drawn to him. It had only lasted a couple of minutes, but his mind seemed to go back over them obsessively. A day was not enough time to let that go. Still, he had thought (hoped) that his very clear message had gotten through.
Apparently not. And apparently trespassing went in the family.
Greg sat on his bed and began texting. Tell your brother I won't prosecute if he gives me my clothes and letters back.
Greg then ran his hand through his hair. So this is how it felt to be stalked. He'd handled cases before but he'd never been on the receiving end of it.
Bills have been taken care of. He'll return the paper copy - SH
Greg's thumbs worked the tiny keyboard furiously. I don't need Mycroft to pay my bills.
He disagrees. Then the mobile rang, he put it up to his ear. "Sherlock," Greg said, "
( ... )
Holy crumb I'm fucking up trying to post this. See this? This? Is why I never post anon on a kink meme. Let's try this again from the fucking top. ARGH!!! _________________________
The next day a prim young man in a suit delivered a package to his office at the MET. Greg stood next to his desk and signed for it, wondering what on earth was in the unmarked manila envelope and why it couldn't have gone through the normal interoffice delivery system.
With some trepidation, he opened it at his desk and up ended it. This better not be full of anthrax, or I'll be very embarrassed.
A small, unlabeled flash drive slid out into his palm.
Or computer viruses, either.
He opened his laptop and put it in. There was a single file on the drive and in the file was a single document, labeled mycroft.holmes.pdf.
Greg relaxed. Oh, it's just him, giving me his resume or some such.He shook his head. Now how had that come to be? Somewhere in the space of three days he'd gone from thinking of Mycroft as being some mysterious and
( ... )
4b/? might double postvelvet_maceOctober 17 2010, 05:46:41 UTC
Well, he had asked to know the man. And now he did. The impression off the screen was a strong sense of self-confidence thrown into sudden disarray. Mycroft knew what he wanted in such uncertain terms. Not only did he know his preferences, but he was comfortable enough in them that he willingly experimented outside of them only for the sake of understanding others. There was an entire chapter on his sexual capabilities written in such graphic terms and sensual language that it made Greg blush. There were several chapters on domestic issues. Mycroft had a reason for everything, down to his color choices. Every nuance of aesthetics came with accompanying analysis of not only how it pleased himself, but how it was perceived by other people.
It was clear that for Mycroft manipulating others was as natural and thoughtless as breathing. So why had he been so damn clumsy and rushed about it with Greg?
There was a clue about that as well. For the information dump this was, there were three glaring gaps. Nothing was said about
( ... )
"For some stranger to stop bothering him perhaps?" Sherlock was, astonishingly enough, sober. He sat at the table in the reception room, tapping away at a brand new laptop. "By the way, I'm thinking of starting a website where I explain my methods of deduction. Lestrade thinks that documentation will lend me an air of professionalism. He'll have something he can refer other people to, so they don't question my consulting. I'm thinking of calling it The Science of Deduction."
Mycroft didn't give a damn about Sherlock's consulting. He grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a throw pillow, and tossed it with all his might. It made a very unsatisfying thud against the window.
Sherlock looked up. "Usually histrionics fall under my purview," he remarked dryly.
"I'm not a stranger! I poured my soul out into that letter I sent him." He rounded on Sherlock. "Tell me what I should do
( ... )
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Greg's mouth opened. "And how the hell would you know anything about that." Was this man a stalker?"It's obvious," said Sherlock, gesturing around. "Your daughters' pictures are all over your desk, but the only picture you have of your wife is on the credenza behind you. And it is a group picture with your daughters in it. Your clothes - that shirt is what passes as fashionable among those of the lower middle class. It cost about double what a very similar, non-designer shirt would have cost, whilst not being appreciably more durable or ( ... )
Reply
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"I very much appreciate you letting my brother off the hook like that." The ingratiating tone seemed lap at him, like a wave.
"It was minor," replied Greg. "… Is there more?" Mycroft had seated himself where Sherlock had been a moment before.
"I would like to show my appreciation." Mycroft's eyes seemed to bore into his. For a second Greg felt like he was being reeled in, like a fish. Those eyes seemed hypnotic, suggesting that whatever Mycroft said should be believed, agreed with. Greg got the oddest feeling that he should walk around his desk and go to the man right now.
What the hell?He shook his head, breaking eye contact. "There really is no need of that," he took refuge in looking around his desk for something to occupy him with, finding the current murder file he flipped it open and made a pretense at reading the evidence ( ... )
Reply
"I never even mentioned you," said Sherlock.
"You made a bond with him - you pursued him. It has to be some sort of confusion. Are you taking him as your mate after our discussion?" Rage began to boil.
"Me?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Never. I don't want a mate, Mycroft. You are more than welcome to him. I fancy he turned you down because you are a megalomaniacal man who simply assumes that everyone will do his bidding. Not all heterosexual men are eager to meet you in the closet for a walk on the wild side ( ... )
Reply
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Reply
Reply
He hadn't forgotten Mycroft Holmes - how could he? Even if the man hadn't made a pass at him, he'd still have been memorable. The handsomeness, the charisma, the way Greg had felt helplessly drawn to him. It had only lasted a couple of minutes, but his mind seemed to go back over them obsessively. A day was not enough time to let that go. Still, he had thought (hoped) that his very clear message had gotten through.
Apparently not. And apparently trespassing went in the family.
Greg sat on his bed and began texting. Tell your brother I won't prosecute if he gives me my clothes and letters back.
Greg then ran his hand through his hair. So this is how it felt to be stalked. He'd handled cases before but he'd never been on the receiving end of it.
Bills have been taken care of. He'll return the paper copy - SH
Greg's thumbs worked the tiny keyboard furiously. I don't need Mycroft to pay my bills.
He disagrees. Then the mobile rang, he put it up to his ear. "Sherlock," Greg said, " ( ... )
Reply
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Reply
Reply
_________________________
The next day a prim young man in a suit delivered a package to his office at the MET. Greg stood next to his desk and signed for it, wondering what on earth was in the unmarked manila envelope and why it couldn't have gone through the normal interoffice delivery system.
With some trepidation, he opened it at his desk and up ended it. This better not be full of anthrax, or I'll be very embarrassed.
A small, unlabeled flash drive slid out into his palm.
Or computer viruses, either.
He opened his laptop and put it in. There was a single file on the drive and in the file was a single document, labeled mycroft.holmes.pdf.
Greg relaxed. Oh, it's just him, giving me his resume or some such.He shook his head. Now how had that come to be? Somewhere in the space of three days he'd gone from thinking of Mycroft as being some mysterious and ( ... )
Reply
It was clear that for Mycroft manipulating others was as natural and thoughtless as breathing. So why had he been so damn clumsy and rushed about it with Greg?
There was a clue about that as well. For the information dump this was, there were three glaring gaps. Nothing was said about ( ... )
Reply
"For some stranger to stop bothering him perhaps?" Sherlock was, astonishingly enough, sober. He sat at the table in the reception room, tapping away at a brand new laptop. "By the way, I'm thinking of starting a website where I explain my methods of deduction. Lestrade thinks that documentation will lend me an air of professionalism. He'll have something he can refer other people to, so they don't question my consulting. I'm thinking of calling it The Science of Deduction."
Mycroft didn't give a damn about Sherlock's consulting. He grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a throw pillow, and tossed it with all his might. It made a very unsatisfying thud against the window.
Sherlock looked up. "Usually histrionics fall under my purview," he remarked dryly.
"I'm not a stranger! I poured my soul out into that letter I sent him." He rounded on Sherlock. "Tell me what I should do ( ... )
Reply
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